The Dream of a Butterfly
by Elerick
Summary: "All that is our reality might just be the dream of a butterfly." Pyramid Head x James short, Phyramid Head's point of view of his world


The Dream of a Butterfly

Pyramid Head x James

Pyramid Head's point of view

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I will be the first to admit this is pretty gay and poorly written but it was really just a creative fart that I had to release when it came to me. So if you like the pairing, I'm sorry its not as dark and gory as the rest.

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There's an old saying, "All that is our reality might just be the dream of a butterfly."

He'd never seen a butterfly.

And he never dreamed.

But he didn't think about these things, he didn't think about anything.

Days passed mechanically in the dank, heavy darkness of abandoned buildings. He never wondered about whom once lived there.

Monsters ran from him, twitching and convulsing, attempting to move their lame legs as fast as they could. Fear hung in the air at the very sound of his footsteps. He never questioned why they were scared.

Blood ran down his helmet, falling like a red rain along the edges. More plastered the already stained walls with each swing of his heavy lone companion. It never occurred to him how he could see it.

He took what he needed, when he hungered he butchered, when he lusted he raped. His life was a simple trail of gore and fluids dripping down the endless hallways.

He never thought there was anything more.

Until he came.

He had first taken notice of the intruder in his world when a weak sound had reached him while he was satisfying himself with a cold, hard mannequin. The creature was different. Green eyes stared at him through the blinds of a closet, shaking; frightened, unaware he could see him perfectly well. Gold hair dusted a pail face, drained with fright. He'd never seen something so pure, unmarred by the dirt and scares that littered everything around him, and yet there was a spark in those eyes, something brave and determined despite where he was.

He wanted this thing for himself.

From that point on he followed the mortal. His actions were strange and confusing, different from the sheer instinct those around him acted on. It made things all the more frustrating.

He knew lust, he knew it well, this was something different. What to do escaped him.

Once he had even attempted to kill him when he got close, hoping it would rid him off all these questions. His feet had become unbearably heavy and every swing of his familiar weapon was labored. His body knew it was wrong and objected, but it didn't get him any closer to the answer he wanted.

Stilled he tailed the creature. What little he understood told him he wanted him near.

It was one dark day that didn't see the sun yet again that he lost the visitor.

For reasons he didn't know he went searching. What he found left his feet frozen to the floor.

Another of his kind had found his prey first.

His brother gripped the man's wrists over his head, leaving the blonde to dangle helplessly displayed. The familiar eyes locked on him, for a moment he thought he saw a cry for help but as they realized who had stepped into the room the green orbs faded into hopelessness.

Realization found his brother. His intentions changed from ones of violence to his victim to dripping malice to his fellow. A gloved hand pushed up the man's shirt to expose pail, unscathed skin to his viewer. He felt his own body tense, either from the site of the mind or the fact that another was touching him. The mortal squirmed, shouted, kicked, everything as the hand shoved itself down to his pants, yanking the fabric, exposing his naked genitalia for all to see. The shouts grew louder and there was a low, ominous chuckle leaking out from the metal cage that framed the his brother's head.

Then there was silence.

The mortal fell to the floor, a limp hand still hooked around his wrists. The monster did not fall, skewered to the wall by his knife he could only slump lifelessly.

He felt no sympathy.

The blonde was frozen for a moment, eyes glassy with shock. He took a step forward and awareness snapped back, the small body began to kick, scramble, trying desperately to get to his feet with garments hanging around his knees and arms. The creature was shouting something he didn't understand and cringed into himself when he reached out a hand.

Only when he was pulled to his feet did he quiet. Those confused eyes shifted back and forth, searching for a face perhaps, to give him any information about what was going on. When he came closer the mortal started up again, but louder, searching the clothes hanging from his elbows for something, a weapon, anything, but was halted by a large hand gripping his tiny arm.

What now? He had him in his grasp. What was he to suppose to do? The creature kept fighting, yelling, crying, sobbing; he looked scared half to death. He didn't want him to be in such a state, but what did he want?

He was tired of this frustration; he wasn't going to take any longer.

This was going to be finished now.

His grip tightened with the dept of his resolve, the mortal cringed in pain but he would not allow escape now, not when he had waited so long.

Not when they were so close.

With a tug on the frail limbs that sent the creature stumbling against him, he sheltered him under his helmet. To see such a thing of beauty up close caused his veins to pulse and, if he had one, his heart to skip.

In a swift, single movement, he captured the other terrified screams with his mouth, sealing them into silence.

He had never known any sensation but want, he always wanted, wanted for food, for sex, for blood.

In that moment he wanted for nothing.

The mortal struggled no more. First his body was rigid with shock, but as the warmth began to build from the friction of two bodies he grew limp, a ragdoll in his arms.

He would hold him up.

What seemed like ages passed before they parted. Blinking in a daze those green orbs stared up at him, so many questions passing over like clouds in a storm. Never had he longed for the ability to speak until now.

A low crackle broke the silence. The mortal looked to the device hanging from the pants around his ankles. It buzzed and gargled like gravel on steel.

A voice, horse and deep rang metallically from the device. Though the sound had never passed his ears he knew it was his own, and though he had never heard the word he knew it was the name.

The name of the one who changed everything.

"…James."

A butterfly who but dreamed him into life from a nightmare.


End file.
